


Resolution

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the night before First Day, and Southerners have a tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



> Just a little New Year's thing for my awesome bff, who wanted an Adoribull New Year's kiss. I don't think this is exactly what they had in mind, but I hope it's all right nonetheless. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing after the holidays. Hope you all enjoyed the season, however you celebrated.

The last night of the year fell on Skyhold with snow. It dusted the stone steps leading down from the Great Hall and settled over the muddy grass in the courtyard. It also blew straight into Dorian's eyes as he stepped outside.

"Wonderful. How festive," Dorian muttered into his collar, tugging it higher over his cheeks. Fereldan holiday weather was just as disappointing as their holiday food. That was likely why any Ferelden "celebration" inevitably meant "the breaking out of the ale." That, at least, was a tradition Dorian could endure comfortably. In fact the single bright spot in all of this snow--quite literally--seemed to be the tavern. Even all the way across the yard Dorian could heard the laughter and music spilling out the door with each new reveler. 

Tomorrow would see the Great Hall decked in white and gold. Far more impressive fare than whatever Dorian expected to find in the tavern tonight would fill the tables, along with a veritable river of wine. Tomorrow was for the visiting nobles and dignitaries come trudging up the mountain to be seen ringing in First Day at the Inquisitor's table. Tonight was for the rest of the castle. The soldiers and servants, the scouts and the hired swords and anyone else who wanted to bid the year farewell piss drunk and singing loud enough to wake the dead. The former, at least, sounded inviting. 

Noise and warmth came to him all in a rush as he pulled open the door. People crowded together around every table, with more standing behind, or borrowing someone's lap, or leaning against the wall. A few other musicians had joined Maryden in her usual spot, and dancers jaunted and bumped into each other in front of them. It was almost endearing. If he played his cards right, he might not even have to end the year alone, and that prospect brightened his adventure dodging dancers and bar maids to reach the bar. That was what he needed. One good fuck to get his head clear and his year started right. He smiled to himself, shaking the snow from his clothes as he went, and brushing it very carefully from his hair.

Of course, the moment he reached the bar was also the moment he heard his name called above the din, and he turned to find the Iron Bull pushing toward him through the crowd. Dorian almost turned on his heel. He should've expected to find the Bull here, of course--where else would he be? Still, it was not exactly the face Dorian was hoping to see. 

It wasn't that he'd been… _avoiding_ the Bull, necessarily. He simply found it more convenient to be...just about anywhere else. 

Flirting came easily to the Bull: a truth as obvious and commonly accepted as the sunrise. Innuendo? Practically his middle name, if Qunari had that sort of thing. And grating, irritating, downright _annoying_ as it often was, Dorian could accept and weather it with all the grace and well-sharpened comebacks befitting a man of his station, if it came to that. He was, after all, Dorian Pavus. But there was the Iron Bull flirting, as he did with just about anything he could conceivably converse with, and there was...well, whatever two weeks ago in the Fallow Mire had been. 

_I'm just saying, Dorian. You have this picture of the Qunari in your mind, you see us as this forbidden, terrible thing, and you're inclined to_ do _the forbidden._

Dorian frowned even at the memory of it. The problem was, in short, that the bastard wasn't _wrong_. And that he had to go about being not wrong shirtless with rain water dripping all over his muscles. It was uncouth. And _unfair_. When he considered the prospect of a good First Day tumble, his hopes had landed somewhere decidedly south of Par Vollen. Surely the Maker mocked him.

"Bull," he managed as the Bull reached him. He tried not to grit his teeth as he nodded a greeting, and he turned quickly to wave Cabot down.

"Cutting it close, aren't you?" the Bull said, leaning an elbow on the counter. 

Dorian risked a glance back. "I'm sorry?" 

"It's almost midnight," said the Bull.

"Ah. Yes, I'd rather lost track of time," Dorian said.

"Come join me and the boys. Pretty sure the rest of the place is full up anyway." 

"So it seems," Dorian said. "Thank you but I... won't be staying long." 

"You never struck me as the early-to-bed type," the Bull said. A grin slid across his lips. There was entirely too little ale in Dorian's belly for his eyes to be following that trail so intently. 

"You're underestimating both my talent and my appeal," said Dorian. He murmured his thanks as Cabot reappeared and pushed a tankard to him. 

The Bull barked a laugh. "Ha! Wouldn't dare." 

"Wise of you," Dorian smirked. He lifted his ale to his lips. 

"So, the big guy's on the prowl, huh?" the Bull said.

Dorian snorted. "Well, surely there's bound to be someone in this crowd unintimidated by the evil magister. Or attracted to the idea. I'm flexible." 

"Are you?" the Bull said, punctuating it with an eyebrow waggle that left Dorian coughing into his ale. With disgust. Certainly not surprise at how charming he found it. Because he didn't. At all.

"I'll leave that to your decidedly filthy imagination," Dorian said. "If you'll excuse--" 

"Orlesians have a tradition for First Day, you know," the Bull said, lips quirking. "If you kiss someone at midnight, you'll have good luck for the rest of the year."

"That does sound very Orlesian," Dorian said, rolling his eyes. "Or very fabricated."

"Nah, I'm not shitting you. Fereldans do it too," the Bull said. He let his gaze slide down to Dorian's lips. "So if you need a little luck, I'm happy to provide." 

"How charitable," Dorian said. "If kissing someone brought good luck, my life would be decidedly different."

"You have to do it at the right time," the Bull said, chuckling.

Dorian's gaze fell to his ale, his smile fading a little. "Ah. I suppose there would have to be a trick to it, wouldn't there?" 

"What's the 'Vint tradition? Cut open someone's gut on an altar and receive wealth and prosperity?" said the Bull.

Dorian's lips quirked. "Well, certainly not in _polite_ company." 

"Right, forgot the part with the cloaks and demons and cover of darkness," the Bull said. 

"The essential ingredients of every evil ritual," Dorian laughed. "It would spoil the fun if you just did it where any commoner could interrupt."

The Bull shook his head, taking a drink of something Dorian hadn't even seen him order. "Think I'll take the Southern tradition." 

"How predictably boring of you," Dorian said. "There's no sport in just kissing for good luck." 

"Then you're not doing it right," the Bull said. Dorian couldn't help another laugh.

"Midnight!" someone shouted behind them, and a chorus of cheers rose up all across the tavern. The musicians struck up a new song, and Dorian saw more than a few couples reaching for each other. His traitorous glance fell back on the Bull, who gave him a lopsided smile and a shrug. 

He'd drunk far too little ale to be seriously considering it. This was the Bull. The Iron Bull. The Qunari spy. The filthy, smelly, shirtless, muscled--

Oh, vishante _kaffas_. 

"Fine. I suppose my luck couldn't conceivably get any worse," Dorian grumbled, setting his tankard back on the bar (after a very deep drink of it) so he didn't have to watch the grin that spread over the Bull's lips. He glanced around the bar, and back at the rest of the tavern behind them, but no one seemed to be looking specifically in their direction.

Squaring his shoulders, Dorian turned and hooked a hand through the Bull's harness. That damnable grin got wider.

"You've been thinking about this," the Bull said.

"Shut up and kiss me," Dorian growled.

"That's what I like to hear," the Bull said. 

It was supposed to be quick. A bare brush of lips, one he'd blame on the ale even if half a tankard made no believable sort of excuse. It would grow to three or four in the retelling, if a retelling happened to become necessary, and he'd laugh easily and wave a hand, and that would, if any of this fabled good luck came his way after all, be that. His strategy hadn't accounted for the Bull's hand (large, how is every bit of him so impossibly--no, no, _no_ , stop that) resting warm and easy along his side, pulling him in a little closer. And he hadn't accounted for the Bull leaning in, for that brush of lips to feel so damn... so... 

The Bull pulled back a little, meeting Dorian's lidded gaze for just a moment before his lips twitched into a smile and he leaned in again. 

Cabot put something in the ale, Dorian will say. It wasn't his usual, surely, he'd gotten some stronger dwarven thing mixed into it, something that killed as much sense as it did taste buds. A second kiss? A proper kiss, soft but decisive and warm and quite lovely, actually? Preposterous, there was no such thing.

_Fasta vass_. 

His strategy, for all its well-practiced and Tevinter-honed glory, had not accounted for the Bull being good at this. 

Very good at this.

Good enough that when he finally pulled back and took his ridiculously large hand with him, Dorian very nearly did something stupid, like grab it back. That grin was back, and the room felt altogether too hot to be comfortable, and maybe Dorian ought to be going to bed after all--

"That offer's still on the table, you know," the Bull said. 

Of course, it didn't have to be _his_ bed. "I think I need much more ale than this to actually consider it."

"I meant to take a seat with me and the boys," the Bull said, suddenly innocent. "You gotta be drunk to be seen with a few mercenaries? Or was there some other offer you wanted to hear?" 

"You're an absolute arse," Dorian grumbled, narrowing his eyes. 

"So you admit to thinking about my ass," the Bull said, grabbing his tankard and chuckling as he turned back into the crowd. "Come on, big guy. See where the night leads."

First Day was for new decisions, new beginnings, for celebrating the death of the year past and starting over fresh. A day for ridiculous traditions and getting talked into them by equally ridiculous Qunari, apparently. Well. Very few of Dorian's decisions had ever qualified as good ones. Why break _that_ tradition? Picking up his tankard, Dorian followed the Bull into the crowd.


End file.
